


The Invisible Library

by winwinnie



Series: A Library That Doesn't Exist [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Steampunk (slightly), Donghyuck is a Librarian, Dragons, M/M, and Mark is just confused, basically a glorified book thief, fae, mark and haechan are actually just Big Kids, not proofread we die like men, only really mentioned though, the invisible library au, they go to a cafe uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-04 08:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17300903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winwinnie/pseuds/winwinnie
Summary: Haechan steals books for a mystical Library that only exists between alternate realities. Mark just wants to know why his brother abandoned him two years ago.And somewhere along the line, they get tangled up in something that's much bigger than the two of them.(aka, Doyoung should stop making kids do dangerous stuff because he made one (1) mistake and Johnny should really just Apologise to mark)[based off The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman]





	1. The Fateful

**Author's Note:**

> quick infodump that i didn't want to dump in the story but gives it more context:  
> •Librarians are glorified thieves. they steal books for the Library and then complain bc they never get to read them  
> •On different sides of the scales are chaos and order. The Library is a balance between them  
> •Chaos-infused worlds are usually inhabited by Fae, and more ordered ones by Dragons  
> •They hate each other, and the Librarians are the neutral party that try and keep the universe in balance while the other two fight  
> •The Language is a language only Librarians speak that gives them temporary control over the world around them. Anyone who hears it, hears it in their native language  
> •Librarians also have a fake name, so no one knows their real name. Donghyucks is 'Haechan', so I referred to him as such throughout the story. Jaemin's in 'Jaemin' because he's an idiot and decided no one would think that his fake name was his real name
> 
> please comment if there's stuff I've missed out and it doesn't make sense!!!

"Are you sure I can't go with you?"

Haechan raised his eyebrows. He'd suspended Jaemin from any book-retrievals for at least three months after he'd hurt his back, but it didn't stop the younger from complaining every time he wasn't allowed to leave the Library. However, he  _had_ noticed that Jaemin only seemed to plead to leave when the assignment was interesting. "No. I've told you before, three months is the minimum rest period. Any less than that, and you'll be injured even more severely."

Jaemin's eyes grew impossible large. It may have worked on a more weak-willed Librarian, but Haechan was feeling particularly stubborn that day.

"Ask again, and I'll raise it to six months." He warned. That did the trick.

"Fine." The younger muttered. There was a brief pause before he spoke again. "Can I at least see you off?"

Haechan sighed. Really, he should refuse, especially since Jaemin wasn't even supposed to be out of bed, but it wouldn't do any real harm to accept. "Come on then. I do have a schedule to keep to, you know."

Jaemin grinned, and the two of them set off. Their shoes clicked loudly against the pearly marble floor, the sound echoed by the huge bookcases lining either side of the corridor. Each contained hundreds of books. Even if he'd wanted to, he'd never be able to read every single one.

A brightly coloured spine caught his eye, but he resisted the urge to stop and inspect the gold lettering. Maybe next time he'd have a longer rest period between retrievals, and he finally start making his way through the large pile of books he'd accumulated over the last few months.

"So what's the assignment again?" Jaemin flicked through the folder he was holding idly. It was a long walk to the door they were looking for, made seem much shorter with conversation.

"You wanted to join me even though you didn't know the mission?" There wasn't a reply, but his silence was confirmation enough. " _His Brightest Lighthouse,_ a collection of short stories. Alternate B-341."

Jaemin frowned, "Beta? So it's magic dominant?"

"Yeah. Like most Beta worlds, the technology isn't particularly advanced, with magic to compensate instead. The magic is mostly controlled by written word, which could prove interesting. It's pretty neutral on the chaos-order scale."

"What about the political situation?" They took a sharp left, and the marble flooring was replaced by a thick carpet.

"The Canadian Empire is the dominating power with control over the entire Western Hemisphere and the political structure seems fairly stable. I doubt that it'll change whilst I'm there. Twenty-first century Canada usually has a reputation for stability."

Jaemin looked impressed by his knowledge, and Haechan inwardly sighed at the younger's naivety. "It  _is_ useful to read the file before an assignment," he said, "Just because you don't, doesn't mean that no one does."

There might have been a reply, but they'd reached the door leading to his destination. It was dark wood, mahogany perhaps, and decorated with minuscule carvings of tiny birds and ferns. Beside it hung two lamps. They flickered with tiny orange flames, and every so often lilac streaks appeared.

"Well," said Jaemin, "Good luck then."

Assignments could take months. The next time they met could be half a year away. He might return twenty years older than when he left.  _Good luck_ was a bit of an understatement.

"I won't be long." Haechan replied. His fingers curled around the brass doorknob. "It doesn't seem to be a particularly complicated retrieval." He paused, "In and out." It was a phrase his assistant used quite often, knowing it annoyed the older. Yet it seemed fitting.

Jaemin grinned. "In and out," he repeated.

Haechan opened the door knob, and stepped through it. It shut with a quiet click behind him.

Although the Library's doors always opened into a library, sometimes just a collections of books would suffice, which could lead to some tricky situations. Really, it was just a library in a place that held some sort of pivotal power at that point of time. Luckily, this alternate's led to a huge Canadian public library. There couldn't possibly be a better place.

He glanced at the map of Canada he'd been given. Maybe, if he was incredibly lucky, he could make it to the museum where the book was being held in less than a day. A well timed train ride would be useful, and he'd made sure to find out where the key stations were in the city.

He quickly stepped away from the door, smoothing down his suit trousers. There were several corridors of book shelves on either side of him, and he chose one quickly, making his way down it until he came to a set of signposts.

 _Fiction A-G_ and  _Fiction H-L_ both pointed left, whilst the rest were all to the right. He scanned the list until he found what he was looking for.  _Reception._

The file containing the information on his assignment had told him that the Librarian-In-Residence worked in the reception here. It wasn't surprising, except for the low-skill level required, since most Librarians would prefer to stay near a supply of books.

Surprisingly, the reception didn't take him long to find. He'd mistaken the fourth staircase for the fifth, and consequently ended up on the wrong side of the building, but had quickly corrected his mistake. He managed to arrive at the desk only twenty minutes after stepping into the library.

The reception was huge, even when compared to the rest of the rooms. It was mostly monochrome with purple accents, and was decorated with huge windows. More 'modern' than Haechan would have expected, considering the world's beta status.

He made his way to the large desk in the far right of the room. "I'm looking for Mr Kim?"

The receptionist raised his eyebrows, "Which one? There are three working here."

"Doyoung Kim."

At this, the receptionist smiled, albeit a bit dry, "I assume you're Haechan?" Without waiting for Haechan to confirm, he continued anyway, "I was told to expect you. Follow me."

He stood up and opened a door behind his desk, gesturing for Haechan to enter. Inside were messy piles of folders and various sheets of paper that seemed to cover the entire room. Piles of books were stacked precariously on the carpeted floor. The receptionist- Doyoung- signalled for him to take a seat.

Haechan moved some stray pages to the floor and sat. "I assume you have information for me? The folder wasn't very clear on where the book actually is."

Doyoung nodded, locking the door behind him. "Well."

That was a bad sign. Nothing good ever came in sentences that began with  _well._

"There's been an update on the book's position." He continues, "Whereas before it was displayed in a museum, it was recently purchased."

Haechan cursed softly. Book purchases were hard to track, unlikely to be re-sold, and if they were recent, almost impossible to steal. "Do you know the location of the buyer?"

"Fortunately, yes. The purchaser was 22 year old Mark Lee, a Canadian who lives around twenty minutes from here."

"Twenty minutes?" Haechan narrowed his eyes in thought, "That seems awfully convenient."

Doyoung shrugged, "Lucky coincidence. There's no evidence that poses Mr Lee as a threat, so it should still be a fairly simply job." He slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. "This is all the updated information that you should need."

Haechan picked it up. There was hardly anything written on it, just a few handwritten paragraphs. He stood up.

"I should be on my way, then." He said. Doyoung unlocked the door, letting him pass in through it. He didn't look back as he left the library, folding the sheet of paper and tucking it into his back pocket.

As soon as he stepped it of the building, he took the desk toy he'd stolen off Mr Kim's desk and threw it into the air, catching it absentmindedly. It was a  _bit_ petty, but he could tell that the Librarian-In-Residence couldn't care less about him. Besides, Jaemin wasn't there, so he didn't have to make a good example.

The streets outside were busy with people, all dressed in various suits. The women had their hair pulled into tight ponytails, and the men mostly wore hats. The fashion trend was quite obviously very smart. He slipped into the crowd unnoticed, his tailored suit fitting in perfectly.

There was only one distinctive thing about him, Haechan thought, patting his own hair self-consciously. The light brown was normal enough, but the rainbow streaks weren't as appropriate. It was a misjudgement on his end, and luckily the dye wasn't permanent. Blending in wasn't quite easy looking like a walking skittles advert.

Newspaper sellers lined the streets. The paper displayed huge coloured pictures that shimmered and moved. Above, huge hot air balloons with painted messages floated past. Tall slender skyscrapers reached into the sky, a fog of grey smoke hanging low over them, hiding their top floors from view. Sculptures of twisted metal and glass stood proudly outside gigantic metropolitan office buildings.

Haechan grimaced. When he'd first heard that he'd been assigned to a magic dominant world, he'd expected something more chaotic than this. Magic and chaos usually went hand in hand, but B-341 was definitely more ordered.

The tarot cards he kept in his bag seemed heavy, almost like they agreed with his disappointment.

 _Not this time_ , he though, sighing. He longed for the day that he could showcase his skills again, especially since the first and only time he'd ever used them, he'd managed to convince an entire palace court corrupt with Fae that giving him the book he was after would save them from certain impending deaths.

It didn't, of course. In fact, the certain impending deaths were probably from their superiors after they realised that he'd gotten away with the book.

But now was no time for reminiscing. He had a new book retrieval to focus on, and there was no time to waste.

Haechan didn't know the city well enough to make his way to the exact address on the sheet, so joined along with a large group of students, enough people not to notice that they'd gained an extra person. At least, he thought they were students. It was hard to tell with this alternate's strict dress code.

He followed them until they reached more of a main road. Here, there were huge shops on both sides, advertising clothes, hats, books. Clothes paraded themselves in the display widows of department stores, and the horse-drawn carriages that sped past made almost no sound on the cobbles streets. An old bookshop caught his eye, and he lingered by it, wistfully. If only he had enough time to read a few of the titles.

A man with a poorly concealed pistol walked past, getting Haechan's attention. His bright uniform indicated he was part the Canadian guard, and the air with which he walked indicated that he knew the area well.

Well enough to be suspicious of a foreigner with rainbow hair? There was no way to tell, but Haechan wasn't willing to take the risk, especially since he hadn't even been in the alternate for a full hour. And even if this guard didn't question him, it was highly unlikely that he was alone.

He ducked into the nearest store, trying to look like he was inspecting the fabric of the suits in front of him whilst keeping an eye on the streets outside. Sure enough, within a few seconds, the man was followed by at least ten others. They weren't wearing uniform, but the slight limp in their walks betrayed they were also carrying firearms.

There was no way of telling what they were there for, but Haechan busied himself in the shop's hat display anyway, turning away from the window altogether. He kept his eyes trained on a mirror hung on the wall, watching the reflection for any signs of the men entering the shop.

One of them turned to face the window. Their eyes met in the mirror, and the soldier frowned, obviously taking note of Haechan's bright hair. His breath caught in his throat. He looked away, trying with all his might to look like he was looking at the shoulders of the suit. He pulled it off the rail, holding it up to his body and trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. The fabric was soft against his palms, and he tried to focus on the fact, concentrating on the material rather than the man in the street outside.

His ears were listening out for any sort of sound that might indicate that he needed to move. The sound of the bell above the shop door, the gasp of a shopper, the click of a camera. He certainly wasn't expecting a gunshot.

It was loud enough to make him jump, and he spun around, the fabric of the suit creasing in his hands. Outside of the window, the soldier he'd seen looking at him had turned away. All eyes, from both the soldiers and the shoppers, are on the form of a man lying in the middle of the road. The soldier Haechan had first spotted slipped his gun back into the folds of his coat. His face was completely blank, despite the red marks staining the bottom of his trousers, and the still warm metal of the gun pressing against his side.

He didn't look back, continuing his walk down the road. The toe of his boot connects with the man's side, with a force and accuracy that suggested it wasn't an accident, and his heel trod on his outstretched palm. Haechan's brain unhelpfully supplied the crunching sound it would have made, and he couldn't help but flinch.

The man in the middle of the road twitched a few times, his fingers reaching out to the pavement feebly, before he fell completely still.

There was a strange silence that filled the shop as the men walked away. It seeped into every corner, soaking every piece of fabric with a unsettling absence of life, and sent chill shivers down Haechan's spine.

Casual murder.

He had to admit, he hadn't been expecting that.

He placed the clothes hanger back on the rail, leaving the shop before anyone could notice he hadn't bought anything. There was a strange horror in the base of his stomach, he realised, as he nimbly stepped over the growing pool of blood that was beginning to fill the cracks of the road. It wasn't the death itself, no, he'd had more than enough experience with murder and he had no acquaintance with the man. It was the emptiness in the soldier's eyes. The way the citizens had gone back to minding their own business so quickly. That no one had even attempted to help the man as he bled out in front of them.

It was unsettling, to say the least. But he shook his head, casting those thoughts out of his mind. He wasn't here to criticise their morals. It was highly unlikely that he'd ever have to return to this particular alternate, so there was no need for him to concern himself with their politics.

He just needed to get the book, and then get out of here.

In and out.

A brightly coloured sign declaring the building to his left as a bank caught his eye. He had brought money with him, but that was when he'd thought it would be a simple heist. He doubted that it would be enough to last him for more than a month, and there was no telling how long he'd spend creating fake alibis and excuses until he got the opportunity to take the book. It would be sensible to refill his wallet, better to be prepared than to regret it later. The Library had accounts open in almost every reachable alternate, and he doubted that Doyoung would mind if he took a few hundred dollars.

But he hadn't brought his card with him.

He almost stopped walking, ready to smack himself in the forehead for thinking it would all be so easy. The card in question lay on his desk, back in his room in the Library, probably buried beneath a mound of discarded paperwork. He'd put it there to remind him to bring it with him, so it was no surprise that he'd somehow managed to jinx himself into forgetting.

Of course, he could turn back. He could easily enter the Library back through the building he had exited less than twenty minutes ago. It would be a bit embarrassing, and he'd probably have to explain himself to Doyoung, trying not to seem incapable. That would be the sensible thing to do. Any reasonable Librarian would have no issues swallowing their pride.

Which was almost exactly why Haechan couldn't do it.

He could imagine Doyoung's face as the younger stuttered for words to explain his mistake, a tiny smirk gracing his lips. He'd roll his eyes, as Haechan fumed behind him.

Hell, he might even be made to return the desk toy.

It wasn't worth the embarrassment or the trip. All it meant was that he'd have to be a bit a bit more careful with what money he did have. No fancy pastries or seafood dishes, saving every last penny for transport and hotels. It would be a bit of a stretch, but he was sure he could do it. Besides, he thought, eyeing up a horse-drawn carriage that was pulling up to the pavement beside him, there were ways he could get around the situation.

"Excuse me!" He began, noticing how the driver looked up, obviously not expecting a customer so soon. There was a lit cigarette between his fingers, and the guilty expression on his face confirmed Haechan's suspicions. "I assume you're working?"

It was an easy assumption to make, considering he hadn't seen a single other smoker the whole time he'd been here, despite passing many working-class people. It was simple guesswork, and it meant the driver was more likely to listen to him, too focused on the consequences on being caught than on Haechan's rainbow hair or lack of briefcase.

And it meant that he could slip into the role of haughty businessman without question.

The man flushed at the question, hastily putting out the cigarette and attempting to hide it from sight, "I didn't realise I'd be getting business so soon, sir, you'll have to forgive me."

Haechan waved his hand, dismissing the apology with a single gesture. "It doesn't matter now," he said, climbing into the carriage effortlessly, "I'm in a rush, and I can't afford to be picky."

"Of course," the man turned round to face him, nodding to himself, "Where would you like to go?"

Haechan took the piece of paper out of his pocket, folding it until it only showed the address, and showing it to the man. "I'll pay you double if you can get me there before the next hour."

Twenty minutes. There wasn't a good reason for the rush, other than the fact Haechan didn't like travelling in such unsafe conditions, but the man's eyes lit up at the thought of the money.

"Of course," he repeated, turning without further questions to spur his horses on. The carriage began to move almost immediately, wheels jolting against the uneven paving stones on the road.

Most of the journey was spent with closed eyes, trying to ignore the sounds of the horses and focusing on what he'd do when he arrived at the house of Mark Lee. It was a good idea to be prepared, despite all evidence pointing towards the fact he usually abandoned his plans within the first five minutes, choosing instead to make split second decisions.

In his mind, he ran over every possibility he could think of. Everything that could possibly go wrong, and everything that would probably go wrong. His fingers played with the desk toy idly, a welcome distraction from the rocking of the carriage.

But it was almost no use.

He had no idea what kind of security measures Mark Lee could have gone to in protecting the book, or even the layout of the building. The information sheet he'd been given was incredibly vague. There were too many variables to attempt to create a plan that would have even the smallest chance of success. Too much that he didn't know and too much that could go wrong.

So getting information was his top priority. He'd have to leave the book alone for now, until he knew he could safely retrieve it. There was too much at risk to take any chances, every word on every page irreplaceable.

The carriage tilted to the side worryingly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He clutched the side of the door tightly, ready to pull it open and jump out if the horses gave even the slightest sign of being about to crash. It was almost embarrassing that he had to mask his sigh of relief when he reasoned it was just the carriage finally slowing down, eventually coming to a stop outside of a huge house.

And then all thoughts and plans disappeared, pushed away by the magnificence of the building in front of him.

It was more of a mansion that a house, several stories stacked on top of each other, each one equally as beautiful. Huge floor to ceiling windows sparkled in the midday sunlight, a feature that almost seemed out of place against the rustic aesthetic of the rest of the alternate. At the very left of the huge white gravel driveway were several stables and a large shed that he can only guess contains a personal carriage. The beginnings of an enormous garden were just visible, an extensive hedge maze with the distinctive sound of a fountain on the far right.

The whole building gave out a sense of power that Haechan couldn't quite put his finger on. The very air around him seemed charged somehow, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

"Are you sure this is the place?" He asked, trying not to show how intimidated he felt. Librarians were supposed to be confident under all circumstances, not trembling at the mere sight of a beautiful house.

The driver gave him a questioning look, "Of course, sir. Mark Lee's house, just like the address said." His eyes travel down to Haechan's pockets, searching him for the briefcase he hadn't noticed he didn't have earlier, "That'll be $70, sir."

"Of course." He pulled out his wallet from the pocket on the inside of his jacket, thumbing through the notes inside until he found the right amou-

Well, there was a definite problem there. No matter how many times he double checked, the amount of money he had stayed the same. $50. Nowhere near enough to pay the driver, let alone enough to pay for accommodation.

Haechan sighed, looking the man directly in the eyes. " **You perceive that I have given you the correct amount of money for the ride."** The words slipped out of his mouth like honey, and he had to control the smile that threatens to played on his lips when the man's face relaxed in a familiar glazed look. He looked slightly like a goldfish, and Haechan vaguely wished he had a cellphone on him, knowing Jaemin would find it equally as amusing.

He opened the door, already feeling the pressure of a headache beginning to build up in his temples. He hadn't used the Language in a long time, so it was only natural for him to feel the effects quickly. The pain didn't really matter, as he had a bottle of aspirin tucked into his jacket pocket, but it also meant that it's effects weren't likely to last as long. Even as he turned around now, stepping out of the car, he could see the driver's face beginning to crease in confusion.

Time to abandon his plan.

Throwing away all intentions of simply surveying the house, he walked towards the building as casually as he could manage, checking any openings that he could enter through. He'd spotted an ajar window on the second floor of the left side of the house from the carriage and, although it had looked quite small, it was probably his best option.

He pulled any items he would need from his jacket, before letting it fall to the ground, the constricting arms definitely not suitable for climbing. It pooled to the ground below him as he managed to pull himself up onto the window ledge with surprising ease, using some of the fancy woodwork on the side of the building as a foothold, and scaling the side of the brick wall quickly. His trousers didn't appreciate the angle he climbed up with, seams threatening to burst with every movement, but he ignored it in favour of hooking one leg around a drainpipe to hoist himself even higher.

He couldn't complain about the practically of suits, even when his mind despaired for trousers he could actually move in. There had been  _much_ worse situations that really put reality into perspective. After he and Jaemin had infiltrated a twelfth-century Bulgarian dinner party dressed as aristocratic ladies, he didn't really have the right to complain about anything else.

Luckily, the window pushed open easily, not even squeaking as he pressed his fingers against the frame. The latch unlocked within ten seconds, and he swung himself into the room swiftly, closing the window behind him without a second thought. He could just about make out the driver rubbing his temples, his look of confusion melting into one of anger and annoyance.

It was probably the relief of entering safely that stopped him from looking around before he'd even entered the room. The euphoric rush that clouded his senses as he realised that he'd safely gotten away.

But it was still rather embarrassing to turn round and face a young man with black hair staring at him. His eyes were wide and dark, suit incredibly well fitted. He gave off an aura of importance and wealth, even the cuffs on his jacket studded with jewels worth more than Haechan's entire life. But his hand shook slightly, betraying every sense of confidence he'd been so desperately dressed to show, as he pointed the gun at Haechan.

"Are you here for the book?" Said Mark Lee, finger trembling over the trigger, "Are you from the Library?"


	2. The Graceful

Haechan's heart stopped beating. He could feel the rush of blood to his face, pounding in his ears until he could barely hear anything apart from his own struggle for breath. How could Mark know? It was impossible for anyone outside of the Library to know of its existence, excluding most Dragons and Fae. And the man standing in front of him was definitely human. The file had been incredibly clear on that, and it was highly unlikely that Doyoung had made a mistake.

Either way, he was going to be having words with the older Librarian afterwards.

He tried to keep his face expressionless, portraying only confusion and what he hoped would pass as innocence. There had definitely been a second where he'd let his guard down, showing all his vulnerability to anyone watching, but he'd just have to hope that Mark was too focused on the gun to notice anything else. "What?" He asked, letting his voice tremble slightly.

"You heard me," said Mark, taking a step closer. The gun got a few inches closer as well, and Haechan did all he could to remember anything useful about guns. It was a pistol, that much was obvious, but beyond that he knew nothing. He didn't recognise the model, not even as a variation of a design from a different alternate, which probably meant that it was unique to this planet. Which in turn meant it was probably infused with the unique magic specific to this alternate, and more dangerous than he could ever imagine.

Slowly he raised his hands in a gesture that he hoped looked as non-threatening as possible. He met Mark's eyes, and raised a single eyebrow, "I have no idea what you're talking about. What Library?"

Something in Mark's eyes changed. The confusion was evident on his face for a second, flashing with uncertainty, before he managed to compose himself again. "Don't play games with me," he said, and his other hand fluttered nervously by his side, "Just don't. I'll ask you again- are you here for the book?"

But the slightest impression of doubt was all that Haechan needed. He tried to suppress his grin as he took a step back, pressing himself up against the window pane. "What book? What Library? What are you talking about?" He made his eyes seem huge, letting his hands tremble, and glanced at the gun again, pushing himself even further back, "C-Can you put the gun down?"

Mark's eyes went to the gun as well, almost as if he'd just realised he was holding it. "I-," he began, voice trailing off. It was incredibly apparent that he hadn't worked out what he was going to do after he confronted the younger. The tip of his gun began to lower, his arm shaking more than ever before.

It was so close to a point where Haechan could kick it out of his reach, only a few seconds away. Only a few movements. A strange silence seemed to envelop the room, deafening him with the tension pulling tight at his heart. Mark's hand stilled slightly, just a few centimetres in front of where it needed to be, so  _so_ close. He can see Mark's eyes widen in a pitiful doubt even more, before he was distracted by something to his left.

And in an instant so fast that Haechan didn't even see the cause, his eyes were as hard as steel. The gun was back to being pointed at him, the hand not trembling even once, and with a sick realisation, Haechan noticed that it was now pointed at his left leg, somewhere near to the middle of his thigh. Being shot there wouldn't kill him, but it would cause him severe pain and prevent him from making any sort of get away.

He'd underestimated the other man.

His eyes scanned the left side of the room for whatever was the cause of the change in Mark's demeanour. There was an old leather chair in one corner, with a multicoloured woollen rug thrown over it, possibly holding some sort of sentimental value, but he doubted Mark would be able to see that from his position. Instead, he'd probably glanced at the huge shelf that dominated most of the golden wall.

It was ladened with heavily-bound books, faded writing down the spines of almost every single one. Each cover looked well worn, but the leather had been treated. Each one could have been what he'd seen, a memorable story could change even the most fragile man into a warrior, but Haechan had the feeling it was something else. On one of the shelves, slightly to the right of the centre, was a silver photo frame. He was too far away to inspect the picture properly, but even from his distance he could tell it was of younger Mark, possibly around nine or ten, and an older boy who looked about twelve.

Ah. So this was a family matter.

"Listen," he said, putting his hands even further into the air and emphasising in every way possible that  _he was not a threat,_ "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know a Library or-"

"I saw what you did to that driver." Mark didn't wait for him to finish. He didn't need to, the evidence almost impossible to deny. All he needed to do was say those few words, and then he could simply step back and watch as Haechan grasped desperately at a feasible excuse.

He could only stand in silence. There were words in his mind, but they didn't make any sense, little more than a few syllables nonsense, a poor attempt at sense. This wasn't supposed to happen. People weren't supposed to know about the Library, weren't supposed to know of the Language's existence.

Mark seemed to take the quiet as a sign to continue. "With your words. That Language. I know it can control people,"  he said.

Haechan opened his mouth, mind spinning with millions of ways that the situation could, and had, already go wrong. He hadn't wanted it to come down to this, but there was honestly no reason why he didn't do it earlier besides simple, fatal curiosity. And now he could only hope that he wasn't to late to fix his mistake. " **Trigger of pisto-"**

He lunged forwards as he spoke, throwing himself out of the line of fire and aiming for Mark. Pushing himself over the thankfully wooden floor, he swung out his leg, hoping to catch the older man off-balance and knock him over. But Mark's eyes had gone impressively large as soon as he'd uttered the first word, the sudden realisation too strong to mask. Haechan inwardly cursed the technicalities of the Language. Although they'd been conversing in English, it probably wasn't Mark's first language, and if he knew how the Language worked, he'd have been immediately alerted to its usage when Haechan began speaking in his mother tongue.

He managed to grab Haechan's leg before it even got close to his body, and twisted it painfully. The younger man fell to the floor, words only half formed as the breath was forced out his lungs. He quickly scrabbled for handholds against the floor, desperately attempting to pull himself up again to finish his command.

It didn't happen.

Before he could even struggle, Mark was pinning him down on the floor in a way that made his cheeks flush unprofessionally. He attempted to struggle out of his grasp, using his knee to push him away, but despite all of his training, despite all of his experience fighting in the field, Mark was somehow able to predict his every move before it happened.

A strange part of his mind that he desperately wanted to ignore suggested that maybe it had something to do with the fact that Mark was  _very_ handsome, and that maybe Haechan was more than a little distracted because of that. He quickly dismissed the notion. Surely he couldn't be beaten because of a simple crush. Surely _,_ he was stronger than the fluttering of his heart.

But he couldn't deny the fact that he was letting his emotions take control of him. He was on a job, and being beaten in a fight against someone who obviously had less training than him was rather embarrassing. In fact, he thought, ever since he had stepped stepped through the door and out of The Library, he'd been working at a level that was less than sub-par. He'd been making mistakes consistently.

Mark grabbed his knee just as it began to press against his stomach, and used his body weight to swing his own leg up, trapping it back down against Haechan's body. His hand clamped down over the younger's mouth, preventing his lips from forming the shape of any words and muffling any sound.

Mark's eyes glanced to the left, and Haechan's soon followed. The pistol was only a few feet away from where they were lying, just out of reach. If only he could free his hand, and somehow tilt his body slightly to the left, he'd be able to grab it. The thought sent a new of adrenaline surging through his veins. He began to fight back against Mark even harder than before, wriggling with all his might, every technique he'd ever learnt forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"Listen," Mark said, and they were so close that Haechan could feel the warmth of his breath on his neck. It sent shivers down his spine, his skin prickling up in tiny goosebumps. He pressed down on the younger's body even harder, desperately attempting to keep him still and as far away from the gun as possible, "I don't want to hurt you. Please stop struggling, and we can make a deal."

Haechan didn't believe it for one second. He despised making deals, the uncertainty of a bargain and treacherous nature of too many Fae clouding his experience. He hated being reliant on others, not knowing whether he would be betrayed and taken advantage of. And here, when he was vulnerable and without back up, there was no chance of him managing to obtain the influence he would need to make sure Mark kept to the terms. It would all be so much simpler if he could just reach the gun, his fingers outstretched, just a few centimetres away.

"Even if you did escape, the book isn't here. I sent it away. But if you make the deal, you'll have it within two days." Haechan was almost certain that if the book wasn't here, then it would be at the location of the man in the photograph, but something in the older's voice made him stop. There was an unfamiliar desperation that wasn't there before. "I just want answers," said Mark, "Please."

And as he looked straight at Haechan, dark hair falling into his eyes, he took his breath away.

His eyes were as wide as pools, and as dark as the night sky itself. They were every second of want, every minute he'd been denied something, every moment of fear that he'd ever felt condensed into a colour a shade darker than the most bitter coffee. They were deeper than the galaxy, more complex than anything Haechan's mind could ever imagine, and dusted with tiny pinprick dots, the dying light of hundreds of stars.

The very nature of the answers he was looking for was a mystery, but it was a quest that Haechan could appreciate. He had the same emptiness in his heart that only knowledge could fill. The same insatiable curiosity that tugged at the frayed edges of his soul, only growing with every letter he read.

And so, despite all his years of training telling him otherwise, despite the voices of his mentors in his head telling him he was a disgrace, despite the quiet part of his heart pleading him to stop and just think for even half a second, despite his entire body screaming at itself that he was making a mistake, he stopped struggling.

"What do you want?"

A look of surprise flashed behind Mark's eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath as if attempting to order his thoughts, "I want to talk to you. I mean- I want you to give me answers. Tomorrow, in the coffee shop just off the main road, if that's okay." He paused, looking at Haechan for confirmation but speaking again before the younger could even open his mouth, "I have someone you need to meet."

"Your brother?" Mark let go of his hand, clearly taken back by Haechan's guess. Confirming, with his reaction, what Haechan had only suspected before.

"How did you know?" He gasped, looking around for anything that could have betrayed the information, an incriminating letter or an object of such like. The deep furrows between his eyebrows only became deeper when he realised that the room was just as he'd left it. He wouldn't find anything. The room hadn't been changed since Haechan's entrance, and the lack of dust on the shelves showed that the room was used often. The familiarity of the room betrayed him, with every aspect supposed to be there, and in doing so, becoming invisible.

Haechan simply pointed to the photo frame, still sitting innocently on the shelf, where Mark's eyes had slipped over it only a few seconds ago. "That's him right? And you, I guess."

The older stood up, the sudden absence of body warmth against Haechan's body sending a strangely clichéd set of shivers cascading down his spine. He sat up, pressing his palms against the floorboards in an attempt to ground himself. To slip back into the right headspace, focus on the mission, and the mission alone. He took a deep breath, the ghost of Mark's fingertips still brushing against his knuckles, the feeling of skin still lingering on his lips.   
Slowly the world stopped spinning, and the giddy joy clouding his mind began to dissipate.

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, his heart rate finally back to normal, he watched as Mark walked over to the frame and picking it up with a strange tenderness. He held the photo so gently, as if it were the most precious thing in the universe. "Yeah." He finally said, voice low and full of something almost empty in nature. Despite his face being hidden from view, obscuring Haechan's perception of his emotions, he still managed to the message. Not to ask any further questions about the inhabitants of the photo. It wasn't worth prying into.

Haechan coughed, making his way up from the floor. There wasn't enough time in the world to watch Mark mourn over mysteries he wasn't willing to share, and Haechan didn't want to dwell on questions that would never be answered. Especially if he was going to attempt to not get invested. He simply couldn't afford to become part of Mark's story, not when he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stay as a minor character. He was only here for the book.

"Can I stay here?" The sound of his voice seemed to startle Mark from of his thoughts. He quickly placed the frame back down with slightly more force than necessary, and turned away, fists clenched hard enough to leave tiny crescent moons imprinted on his palms. But his eyes were still hazy with thought, glazed over with the glassiness of memories. They stayed trained on Haechan's face, unseeing.

"Mark?" Asked Haechan, voice suddenly and uncontrollably soft, and after a few tense seconds, the older finally blinked, shaking his head slightly and making eye contact with the younger.

"What?"

"Due to an-" Haechan paused, thinking over his word choice to find the phrase that would make him seem the least idiotic, "-unfortunate mistake, I only have $50. It's hardly enough to pay for a room anywhere, so could I stay here for the night?"

"Uh, sure," Mark says, opening a delicate looking glass door on the right side of the room and exiting through it. He didn't look back once, but continued talking. Haechan followed closely behind him, not exactly in the mood to get lost inside the huge house. "I wasn't expecting a guest though, so you might have to excuse the mess."

"I don't mind," said the younger. He doubted it could be that bad. Even the corridor they were in was of a class usually reserved for royalty, with creamy wallpapered walls and a thick plush carpet that he almost felt guilty for tracking mud through. There were more glass doors on each side of him, with the occasional one being made for a dark wood, which he guessed were the entrances to more private areas. He couldn't help notice that despite each doorknob being identical, no matter the appearance of the door, the intricate gold patterns on some were barely visible over a thick layer of dust.

There were several stands along the corridor as well, tiny bookshelves with fragile marble sculptures perfected on top of them, even more framed photos standing proudly near the edges. Each displayed the same two people, and each had the same distinct lack of dust on their frames. The very air crackled with importance and high expectations, with the deep coppery scent of old pennies.

He was so focused on inspecting the contents of the picture frames, so enamoured by the illusion of power that surrounded everything, that he almost walked straight into Mark, who'd stopped suddenly outside a wooden door.

"This is it," he said, twisting the doorknob and revealing the room. Stepping back, he let Haechan enter first, hovering by the door awkwardly as the younger looked around in awe.

There was a huge ceiling to floor window taking up one side of the room, heavy velvet curtains hanging on either side, the deep burgundy accentuated by elegant gold tassels. It was designed to catch the eye, to draw all attention to the magnificent view of rolling fields and infinite expanses of forests, but Haechan was trained to see beneath the surface of beauty. Instead, he was immediately drawn to the burnt embers still in the fireplace, the folded pages in the book lying on top of the chest of drawers, the crumpled pieces of paper in the bin by the side of the bed.

The signs of life that hadn't been cleaned away. But why? The room had obviously been untouched for a while, but it had been preserved almost exactly like it had been left. The last lingering memories of whoever had last slept here. Though, peculiarly, the bedsheets were immaculate, neatly folded and pressed, not a single wrinkle in sight. Almost as if it had started to be cleared, but something had made the finer details of the room too painful to change.

A glance at Mark confirmed his suspicions.

Pain was stretched across the others face, but also a deep sorrowful regret that glinted in his eyes. His eyelids were half-shut, not seeing anything, lost in thoughts that only he could know. And then, almost as if he knew Haechan was watching him, he took a step backwards and opened them wider than before, drawing in a deep sigh. "It's late," he said, his voice tender in a way that rang in Haechan's ears, "Is it okay if I retire for the night? Feel free to ring up a butler if you're still hungry, or if you need something at all." He pointed towards a small bell on the bedside table, the base connected to a wire that ran alongside the wall for a few inches before disappearing behind the wooden panels.

Haechan nodded. Due to the skies outside still being the colour of milky sapphires, it didn't appear to be any later than midday, with streaks of white candy floss clouds still visible. The sun still hung in the sky, casting long shadows across the room, but he knew it had to be nearing at least ten o clock. "Of course," he replied. He crossed over the room in three long strides, smoothing over the pristine covers of the bedsheets absently, before sitting down.

If Mark noticed his action, noticed the way he'd scanned the room before he'd even stepped into it, he didn't mention it. Instead, he brought up a hand to his temple, running his hands through his fringe. "I'll call someone to wake you up by eight, if you aren't already up, that is, and we can meet down in the dining room by the second kitchen," he paused, as if thinking through his words, frowning slightly and the adding, "Actually, just wait here until eight. The layout of this house is confusing at best, and there's no time to waste tomorrow."

Haechan tried to suppress a smile. He wouldn't have minded wandering through the house for fifteen minutes in the morning, letting himself gaze at the magnificent painting in awe and exploring every single secret of every room, but it was kind of endearing that Mark didn't want him to get lost. He appreciated the sentiment, deciding not to take the comment as an insult to his navigational abilities.

"Okay." He replied, throwing his legs up onto the bed and lying down, staring at the ceiling, his eyes travelling every mountain and valley in the uneven white paint. Just lying down on a bed was making him embarrassingly tired, the soft mattress surrounding his body like a cloud of feathers. He could close his eyes right now and just drift off, falling into a dreamless sleep. It sounded like heaven, filled with heavy duvets and crisp sheets, the comforting smell of laundry powder clouding his mind. But instead of letting himself relax, he turned his head towards the door and raised a single eyebrow.

Mark's cheeks were dusted with a soft red, a shade akin to an overripe tomato, or a ruby nestled in the centre of a golden broach. He hadn't expected to be caught staring, Haechan guessed. "Uh- I'll just be going," he said, his eyes not leaving Haechan's, and hands flapping nervously by his sides like butterflies, "There are pyjamas in the wardrobe."

And then he was gone, door closed with far more force than necessary. The sound of his footsteps down the corridor soon faded, and the room descended back into silence. Silence, except for the smile on Haechan's face, a flash of teeth that he hadn't realised had appeared, the very start of a laugh in his lungs, spreading like the petals of a blossoming flower.

He pulled himself out of bed and threw on the pyjamas without a second thought. The option of food hung temptingly in his mind, but the soft mattress beside him was like a siren's call. His clothes were left in a pile on the floor, the inevitable lines that would appear in the expensive fabric little more than an afterthought. Off the door hung a tiny lock, a security precaution that Haechan almost felt guilty for, but still wasn't willing to compromise.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, light still spilling through the open curtains and illuminating his skin, he slipped into the emptiness of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop whoop i have a bad habit of writing in the present tense even though this is supposed be in the past tense so there are probably about fifty mistakes 
> 
> make sure to leave a comment if you liked it, or if you didn't understand something!
> 
>  
> 
> (and go stream wayv's regular)


	3. The Regretful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay!
> 
> (halfway through i decided i didnt like my writing style and became super unmotivated for about a week and theres a slight change in style bc of this)
> 
> Few notes I thought may be helpful:  
> •Librarians only age outside of The Library  
> •because The Library is neutral, its dangerous for Librarians to have any sort of relationships with people that aren't Librarians (due to multiple incidences of blackmailing)

Haechan's eyes fluttered open slowly, the unfamiliar pillow case pressing against his face crumpled in a way that he knew would leave red lines crisscrossing his cheek. One arm was trapped under his body, and his fingers were unhelpfully numb. He stretched it out in front of him as he sat up, letting the pins and needles reach the very ends of his fingertips. His other arm reached up to his eyes, rubbing the last remains of sleep from his vision and pushing his hair back out of his face.

There was a clock on the bedside table. It was old-fashioned, even for this alternate, most likely an expensive antique. The silver face was intricately designed with tiny leaves and vines, the ivory hands shot through with the precious metal, each one silent as they circled around the diamond nestled in the centre. But, most importantly, it read seven thirty.

The time itself wasn't much of a surprise- his natural body clock waking him up at around that time every day, but he'd been slightly apprehensive about trusting his body after travelling through alternates. The passage played with the fabric of time in places, and on certain occasions could be incredibly unreliable. But, luckily for him, it appeared that he hadn't been affected much.

Just as he'd hoped, he had half an hour to prepare.

Or, he thought, as he took the lock off of the door, fifteen minutes to get ready and fifteen minutes to look around.

Haechan opened the door slowly, not wanting to make much noise, and smiled at the pile of clothes that lay folded outside of his door, the soft grey colour standing out against the pale carpet. He quickly picked them up, closing the door behind him, and placed them on the bed, inspecting them. He'd expected a new set of clothes to arrive, judging by how his suit had been slightly too old-fashioned to fit in seamlessly, and Mark had seemed like someone who liked to keep up appearances. Plus, his jacket was still probably outside of the window from where he'd abandoned it the day before.

The new suit fit him well, surprisingly. Mark was obviously a good judge of size, though the sleeves where a bit loose around his wrists and the legs of the trousers were slightly too tight. The fabric itself was soft, the plain colour making his boldly coloured hair stand out even more. Each button on the cuffs were gold, with enough weight to them that Haechan wouldn't be surprised to find out they were real. Not for the first time, he wondered exactly how rich the older was. To be willing to spend money on a solid gold buttons on suit for someone he'd only known for less than twelve hours seemed a bit excessive, even if he was rich enough.

Or perhaps, Haechan thought back, the image of Mark's flushed cheeks burned into his memory, there were more feelings involved than would be deemed professional.

But then again, Haechan couldn't claim that the older's infatuation was unrequited. There was no denying the way his heart had skipped a beat when Mark had looked at him, no denying the fact that his own cheeks had heated up in a similar way.

He sighed, pushing his hair back from his forehead yet again. Feelings were messy and unpredictable. Usually he tried to keep himself as far away from them as possible, playing the part of 'annoying brat' so well that no one even thought twice about befriending him. It was how he distanced himself, and it was usually successful, the foundations of the wall he'd built around himself so strong that he'd almost forgotten how to actually let anyone in. His hair immediately fell back into his eyes, almost as if he'd never touched it in the first place.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of himself in a mirror in the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, and only half of his face was visible, but it undeniable how tired he looked. Shaking off all thoughts about feelings and pushing them to the very back of his mind, he flicked the light on to the bathroom, and grabbed the toothbrush lying by the side of the sink, still in the pristine plastic wrapper.

It didn't take him long to refresh himself, especially since Mark's cupboards were empty of any skin care products he would have liked to use, and this alternate didn't call for the intricate make-up techniques he'd been faced with before. There was part of him that missed the soft swipe of a eyeshadow brush over his eyelids, but that part was quickly drowned out by him noticing the huge shower taking up most of the left wall.

It had about fifty buttons, and Haechan took a small step forward, so close to running his hand down the shiny silver box. His fingers hovered only a few centimetres away. If only he had enough time to use it. He'd love to find out what each and every button did, use every fruit-scented body wash on the shelf, completely cover himself in delicious smelling bubbles. It had been so long since he had a proper shower, and he was genuinely considering abandoning his mission to throw of his clothes and stay in the hot water for hours upon end.

The metal was cold beneath his fingertips. But that was as close as he was getting. He left the bathroom without looking back, closing the door to avoid any possible temptation and fixing his hair for the last time. His reflection stared back at him, skin glowing in the golden light of the sun. He took in a deep breath, trying to focus his mind.

Find out as much as he could about Mark.

Find out as much as he could about Mark's brother.

And find out where the book was.

Simple, if you put it into those terms. If only he could ignore all the complications he'd already been faced with and even  _pretend_ that it would ever be that easy.

He crossed the room in only a few steps, pushing the door open and stepping into the corridor. It was just as magnificent as it had appeared last night, maybe even more so now that he was fully awake. The shelves seemed to have a more elegant appearance to them, and as he walked, he ran his fingers over their tops. They were all clean of the dust that seemed to linger around the huge house, obviously cleaned recently.

There was a large bookcase on the right side of the corridor, next to a wooden door that opened out into what Haechan could only guess was one of the guest rooms. It seemed suitably plain, lacking any of the personal touches that decorated the other rooms he'd been in. He paused by the books for a second, but wasn't surprised that none of them were what he was looking for.

Despite Mark having every opportunity to lie about the books location, the look in his eyes had been desperate. It had been a call from deep inside him, a last ditch attempt to gain the information he wanted with the little bargaining power he had. He had the look of an honest man, Haechan decided, eyes that were too innocent to belong to a double-crossed.

He moved on from the bookcase without giving it a second glance.

As he wandered further down the corridor, he couldn't help but notice the absence of people. He didn't expect to see Mark, or any guests of importance, considering how easily Mark had agreed to let him stay, but there were no signs of any maids or servants. Instead, every room remained pristine and empty.

He turned up a wide flight of stairs, running his hand over the golden banister, and reached another floor of identical colours and decorations. The carpet still just as pale, the gold decorative features not getting any less frequent. But, even from the end of the corridor, he could tell that this floor was slightly different. The second door on the left was white, a blinding contrast against the warm yellows of the walls and firefly reds of the curtains. It didn't quite fit with the rest of the intricately aesthetic furnishings.

Someone had gone to a substantial amount of effort to make sure the entire house looked effortlessly stylish. So why leave out one door? It just didn't make any logical sense. There were only two possible explanations he could think of; either there was a sentimental reason behind it, or it had been changed to deliberately stand out, possibly without the permission of whoever had decorated the rest of the house.

And, going by his gut instinct and the almost complete lack of photos of any kind, he didn't think Mark's parents cared much for memories.

He crossed the hallway silently, pushing the door open. It was stiff, like it hadn't been opened in quite some time, and the golden handle was rough beneath his palm. The bottom of the door caught on the carpet as it opened, and there were black marks staining the white paint near the floor- scuff marks that had never been cleaned off.

He didn't know what he expected to find inside. Maybe some sort of explanation about Mark's brothers absence, or the emptiness in Mark's eyes. Answers to the strange lack of people in the house, or the meticulous design of every single matching item. There was even a possibility of the book being in the room. Questions burned in the his mind with the intensity of red-hot coals. He could taste iron in the back of his throat, sharp and metallic.

He didn't expect a hand on his shoulder.

"I'd appreciate it if you left that room alone," said Mark, as Haechan whirled around, fists raised and heart beating at an embarrassingly fast pace. The older's tone was sad. Not quite disappointed, but not far off it. There was a resigned sense of expectancy there, and Haechan was suddenly hit with a wave of guilt.

"I-" he started, not quite sure how to explain himself.

But Mark didn't wait for an excuse. "It's okay," he said, "I understand that you're curious. You have every right to be, and I would have been more surprised if you didn't attempt to investigate. But  _please_ don't enter that room." His voice was laced with pain, unspoken agony humming in every syllable.

Haechan swallowed. "I can't help but feel like we're on an uneven playing field here," he said, "You appear to know everything about me. Any yet I know nothing about you."

Mark smiled wryly. It was small and more pitiful than anything else, but it was a smile. It stayed there for a few seconds, perched on his lips but looking so incredibly wrong, before his mouth split into an awkward grin. He raised one arm, pulling at his hair bashfully. "I guess that's true," he said, closing the door slowly, "But I promise I'll tell you everything. Just have patience. Please."

The shock lasted for roughly one second, before Haechan decided just to roll with it. If he spent all his time analysing ever aspect of Mark's behaviour, he'd never get his heart to stop skipping beats. Besides, he quite liked the change in his demeanour. It seemed to fit him more, a more natural light flickering in his eyes. Some of the pain momentarily forgotten.

"Well then," Haechan said, "We better get going then. I'm not the most patient person, and I'm too invested in this mystery now."

"Mystery?" Mark echoed.

"The mystery of the enigmatic Mark Lee, who somehow knows about the existence of a super-secret Library that only exists between realities. Of course it's a mystery- and a pretty exciting one at that."

Mark opened his mouth, maybe to argue that his life wasn't a mystery, but Haechan didn't wait for that. Instead, he grabbed the older's sleeve, grinning at him. "Are you okay to skip breakfast?"

"Well, I suppose," he said, frowning, "But what does that have to do with any-"

Before he got to finish his sentence, Haechan was pulling him down the corridor, in the vague direction of the door he'd seen on the front of house the day before. His fingers looked especially tan against the light grey fabric of Mark's suit, as he pulled the older behind him. They hurried down the stairs, almost tripping over the plush carpet, and Haechan couldn't help but grin when he felt Mark finally realise what was happening and begin to run as well.

He let go of the older's sleeve, and they were suddenly in a strange sort of race. A competition of sorts, to see who could reach the entrance first. They almost flew down another flight of stairs, feet barely touching the ground.

Haechan was much faster, having trained for years in various martial arts and regularly having to sprint for his life. His body was used for running, used to the sudden adrenaline surging through his veins at less than a moments notice. But Mark had the advantage of knowing the house. He knew every corridor and room like the back of hand. He knew what was behind every blind spot, able to navigate the mansion with his eyes closed.

Or so Haechan tried to tell himself, about a minute later. In the last few seconds of the race, he'd misjudged the width of the house and almost turned left a corner too early. He'd easily managed to correct his mistake, but it had cost him too long. Mark overtook him, reaching the door, whooping in child-like delight, and promptly collapsing into the floor. Haechan would have laughed, but he was bent double, so out of breath it would have been embarrassing, except he could hear Mark doing the same thing next to him. Their cheeks were flushed with exhaustion, limbs already heavy.

A single maid walked past, the first one Haechan had seen the whole time he'd been there, and the confusion on her face made him burst out in laughter.

Professionalism could go throw itself out of a window.

For a moment, as he made eye contact with Mark, everything was forgotten. Just the sight of each other- hair messy, cheeks crimson- was enough to send them back into hysterics. For a moment they weren't the empty businessman and the lonely librarian. For a moment, they weren't masquerading as anyone. They were two boys, just out of teenage years, finally remembering what it was like to be free of expectations, to shed all constricting rules and etiquettes.

Finally, there was a know on the door behind them. It swung open, revealing a small man wearing a waistcoat, a long whip in his right hand. He bowed at the sight of Mark. "Your carriage is ready, sir."

Mark immediately stood up straight, all traces of laughter gone. His eyes were empty again. He nodded curtly, before gesturing for Haechan to follow him, letting the man, who Haechan assumed was the driver of the carriage, lead them through the gardens.

It didn't take them long to reach the carriage, a huge vaguely rectangular shaped metal box. The frame was intricate, filled with tiny designs of leaves and vines. Two pure white horses were tethered to the front, tiny gold and red ribbons plaited onto their manes.

Mark pulled him into the carriage, not even giving the younger time to take in the detail of the ironwork. He could easily tell it was much more luxurious than the one he'd taken the day before though. Anyone with functional eyes could see that, with Mark's carriage giving off an inexplicable and effortless sense of power. The inside was even more stylish, with deep red leather seats and gold trimmings. The windows all had thick velvet curtains that matched the ones in the rooms. A small newspaper lay next to him, the words shimmering and changing in accordance to the most popular and up-to-date stories.

Haechan briefly wondered whether Mark even knew what it was like to live in a world where he wasn't waited on constantly. Where he had to do work himself, to count every last penny in his pockets with an empty stomach. He wondered what Mark would do if he saw furniture that didn't match.

"It's nice," he said, offhandedly. He didn't think Mark particularly wanted his opinion, but it was more of an instinct at this point.

"Thanks," said Mark, but there wasn't any feeling in the words. "It is nice, I guess."

"You don't like it?" Haechan guessed, pressing his palms into the expensive leather when the carriage jolted suddenly, the horses beginning to move. No matter how expensive the method of travel was, the familiar queasy feeling of travel sickness would always haunt him.

"Isn't it a bit too much?" His fingers brushed against the curtains, lingering on the silk seams , "I'm the only one that sees them now, and I don't even like velvet that much."

"I suppose," said Haechan, "But weren't they intended for you? It would be a waste to dismiss them that easily, especially considering the cost."

At the mention of money, Mark's face turned even paler. Something flashed in his eyes, and he turned to face Haechan, frowning slightly, "As if money's ever been an issue. You've seen my house- imagine how much was spent on it. These curtains are practically nothing compared to why I could spend in the blink of an eye. And I wouldn't even notice it."

Haechan didn't reply, so Mark continued, "You know, my parents used to redesign the house every season. Every time the fashion changed, so did every aspect of the house that could be changed. I used to be able to leave for an hour, and when I returned I wouldn't even recognise my own room. And you want to know the worst part of it all? All that fabric, all that precious metal, it was all scrapped. Thrown away somewhere just because it wasn't fashionable anymore." The look on his face showed what he thought of that. It was an expression of contempt, a disbelief that anyone could be that wasteful.

Haechan thought over his next words for about s second, weighing up the possibility of offending Mark with the questions burning at the back of his throat. In the end, the boundless curiously won, and he asked, "What happened to them?"

Mark looked up, "The fabrics? I don't know, they were probably bur-"

"Your parents."

"They died." The atmosphere chilled, an awkward silence settling across them like a heavy blanket. Haechan almost wished he hadn't asked.  _Almost._

"I'm sorry for your loss," he offered, the cliched line the only thing his mind supplied in response to the situation. He cringed even as the words left his mouth.

"Don't be," Mark replied, "They weren't nice people, and it was a long time ago- I barely remember them now. It was my brother who raised me, mostly." He smiled wryly, "I guess it was that way even before they died."

"The same brother we're on the way to meet now, I presume."

"Yeah." Mark opened his mouth, maybe to say something else, but he closed again, the light draining from his eyes. He sighed, "Yeah."

They settled back into the silence. The jolting of the carriage sent fearful spikes through Haechan's heart, but they weren't nearly as bad as before. The crescent shaped indents he'd left in the leather seat were barely visible, and he found himself watching Mark instead of worrying about the stomach acid swirling around his body. The older's eyes were trained on something outside of the window, his eyes flicking back and force in accordance with the trees by the side of the road.

His face was strangely blank, the lines etched into his forehead finally smoothed over. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering how old he was. His smile spoke of youthful energy, but his eyes contained a sorrow that seemed millenniums old, a story older than the stars themselves. There was something ancient in them, a pain that had never faded. Haechan wondered what it was. What tragedy had left him with an empty void for eyes.

"It shouldn't be much longer now," Mark said softly, startling Haechan out of his thoughts . He felt his cheeks heat up, not realising how long he'd spent staring. Somehow, whilst he'd been looking at the older, the deserted roads had turned into cramped city streets, mud tracks giving way into cobbled roads. Flashes of red reflected in the glass every once in a while, eye-catching against the grey cloud of blank-faced people that crowded the shops.

Their faces were just as empty as they were yesterday, when he arrived. They hurried along in an identical way, suits matching the sky above them and the concrete walls of the buildings around them. Ashen faces and ashen eyes. Soulless robots oblivious to the intricate beauty of life that surrounded them. They walked past the swirling words without looking twice, ignoring the the fact that the letters were the only splash of colour in their dull lives. Haechan would never cease to be fascinated by magic. He'd grown up in its absence, an alternate restricted by the Dragon's ordered rule, and he'd never had the chance to grow out of his child-like amazement.

They travelled down the street for a few minutes longer, before taking a sharp left and allowing the carriage to come to a gradual stop. Mark held the door open for him, and as soon as he stepped out, he could see why Mark had chosen that specific shop.

It was blinding compared to the rest of the street. The walls were still the identical smoky grey, but each window was decorated with turquoise sea-glass that almost glowed in the light of the weak sun. The curtains were a deep navy, trimmed with gold and sky blue fastenings. Even the door was a shade lighter than the walls, a tiny golden bell hanging from the ceiling and catching the gas-lights from inside.

"Isn't it beautiful?" murmured Mark from beside him. He waved the carriage away, whispering instructions into the drivers ear that Haechan couldn't catch. The driver nodded, saluting the younger, and flicks the whip with a loud crack. The horses neighed, hooves clattering across the street. They were left alone.

Haechan didn't reply. Instead, he crossed the street and stepped inside the cafe, scanning the room for any sign of the man from the photograph. But the coffee shop was crowded, the quiet hum of people taking and the melody from the white and gold piano in the corner of the room making it impossible to concentrate. There were simply too many faces. It didn't help that they were all dressed almost identically, with black or grey suits and hats that looked a bit too much like fedoras.

Mark entered behind him before Haechan could identify anyone, and pulled him to the left, into a tiny private room. They pushed past the treads of beads hanging from the doorway, Haechan cringing whenever one of the sparkly blue plastic stings brushed his skin. Mark didn't seem to mind as much, running his fingers through them, before sitting in a booth on the right side of the room.

Opposite him sat two men.

One was short, with dark hair and a snub nose. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn't quite want to be there, shifting in his seat, and his eyes were uncharacteristically downcast. He was holding the hand of the other man, who was much taller and with brown side-swept hair. He smiled at Mark as they arrived, but it faded as his eyes met Haechan's. Mark's brother.

"I'm Johnny," he said, shaking Haechan's hand as he slid into the seat beside Mark, "and this is-"

"Ten." Said Haechan, "We've met."

Johnny's mouth stayed open for a second, his body frozen. His eyes flicked between Ten and Haechan, before nodding and sitting back down. Ten didn't meet his eyes.

"You know each other?" Mark asked, confusion creeping into his voice.

"I wouldn't say  _know_ each other. It's more  _know of_ each other," said Ten. His voice was just as high as Haechan remembered. "I think it was at a meeting once. Possibly about Haechan accidentally assassinating Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Alternate B-235 and causing the start of World War One."

"I seem to recall that you were only there because you'd done the  _exact same thing_ in Alternate B-139 three months prior," replied Haechan. It was the only time they'd ever met, and he would have liked to keep it that way. They hadn't gotten along well, barely speaking to each other outside of snide remarks and barely-disguised insults.

Ten sniffed, waving his hand. "Details," he said, before frowning slightly, "Didn't you have an apprentice with you? Some pink-haired kid?"

"Jaemin," Haechan said, "He's recovering from a back injury at the moment."

"Shame. Maybe he would have made this meeting actually bearable-"

Ten's comment was interrupted by Johnny, who placed his hand on his thigh and effectively shut him up. "This isn't a meeting. It's more of explanation." Haechan didn't miss the way he looked at his brother, regret written all over his face, "Mark, I-"

"Don't." Said Mark. "You said it's an explanation? Then explain. I want answers."

"Mark-"

"Answers, Johnny. I don't come here for apologies. I want an explanation, and the book."

That certainly caught Haechan's interest. He'd suspected that Johnny had the book, but it hadn't been confirmed. It was the reason he'd come here, after all, and he wasn't leaving this Alternate without it.

"Ah yes, ' _His Brightest Lighthouse.'_ I've read it. My favourite poem is the last one," said Ten. He picked up his teacup and took a sip. The cup was almost empty. Haechan wondered how long they'd been waiting for them.

"You've read it?" Said Haechan, slamming his hands down onto the desk, "You've read it, and you haven't handed it into the Library?"

Ten looked at Johnny. "The Library thinks I'm in Russia, tracking down an ancient Chinese manuscript. I actually found it two years ago, but... there are reasons why I don't want to leave this Alternate. Reasons that the Library wouldn't approve of."

"We're dating," said Johnny, confirming Haechan's suspicions before he even had a chance to guess.

But it didn't stop his heart from sinking. He could understand where Ten was coming from: The Library had incredibly strict rules on relationships, meaning that the only ones allowed were strictly platonic, or with no strings attached. Dating was out of the question, and even staying in the same place for too long was frowned upon, unless you were on a mission or the Librarian-in-Residence.

"And you didn't tell me?" Mark's voice was low and quiet, but the hurt was unmistakable. He took a biscuit from the plate in the middle of the table, but didn't eat it, instead turning it over and over between his fingers. A few crumbs came loose and landed on the table. Haechan had to resist the urge to sweep them away.

Johnny looked pained, "Mark, I wanted to. I wanted to  _so much._ But... let me explain from the beginning. Please."

Mark nodded wordlessly. His face was pale, a complete contrast to the boy Haechan had seen earlier in the day. Acting on impulse, he pressed himself closer to him, squeezing his hand for reassurance. Mark looked at him in surprise, before a small smile graced his lips. Haechan smiled back. Something inside him didn't like seeing Mark so sad.

"I met Ten three years ago," began Johnny, "Two years after our parents died. It was just a coincidence that we were at the same dinner party in Beijing, but for some reason I thought I recognised him and started a conversation. As it turned out, I'd met him as a child."

Haechan raised his eyebrows. "And how did that happen?" He asked, "I thought Librarians weren't supposed to endanger the Library like that?"

"It's a long story," said Ten. "Do you want this book or not? Let Johnny explain, and maybe we'll  _consider_ giving it to you."

His point was valid, but it still stung. His only reason for being here was because Mark needed proof that he knew the Library existed. It wasn't his story to interrupt, it wasn't his questions that were getting answers. It was all for Mark. Haechan  _hated_ feeling so useless, but there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he simply slouched back into the sofa, biting into a biscuit dejectedly.

"We hit it off instantly. By the end of the week, we were inseparable. Ten came back to Canada with me, and rented an apartment on the left side of the city. We met every single day in secret, too afraid to show our relationship to the world."

He stopped for a second, looking at Mark with sad eyes. "There are people out there that are so much worse than you could ever imagine. I wanted to keep you safe. I couldn't bear the thought of you caught up in the darker sides of this city. But no matter how hard I tried, it didn't last forever. Two years ago, something changed."

"That's when you left," said Mark, voice thick with realisation, "Two years ago."

"The entrance from the Library to this world shifted, from Egypt to Canada. More specifically, to here. This city. And when the Library moved, so did the amount of surveillance."

"You chose your relationship over me." Mark said. "You chose Ten over me."

Johnny flinched. "It's not like that," he protested, "I thought you'd be okay on your own. You knew where I was the whole time. The only thing that changed was that we weren't living in the same house anymore, Mark." He bit his lip, clenching and unclenching his fist, "I'm sorry, I really am, but-"

"I spent six months wondering what I'd done wrong." The anger in Mark's voice was barely disguised, each word laced with venom, "Why my brother just decided to leave me one day with just a handwritten note telling me that you'd decided you didn't want to live in the city anymore. I didn't leave the house for weeks. Just because you wanted to live with your boyfriend."

"I didn't want you to find out about the Library," Johnny said. "I wanted to keep you safe."

"And a whole lot of good that did! I ended up finding out anyway!" Mark shoved the biscuit into his mouth, chewing furiously. His eyes were lined with red, his cheeks flushed pink with anger. After swallowing, he stood up, and pulled Haechan from the booth. "We're leaving," he said, and his voice wavered slightly.

"But what about the book?" Haechan asked, rather dumbly. He cast a glance back to the table. Johnny had his head buried in his arms, Ten whispering in his ear and rubbing his back comfortingly.

"We can get it later," Mark said, "I know where it i-"

They never made it further than the blue plastic beads.

Standing in front of it, some of the glitter from the doorway caught in his hair was a man with dark hair, who Haechan hadn't been expecting to see. A slither of ice settled in his gut, spreading throughout his organs until he was frozen in place.

Doyoung.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." The Librarian-in-Residence said. He tilted his head, effectively blocking the exit. "I recommend that you sit back down. I think that there's a conversation we need to have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there are any mistakes, or if i've missed out a bit of info, don't hesitate to tell me!


	4. The Dreadful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its a bit short, but i decided that it would fit better with my original story plan to separate this into two chapters
> 
> next one might take a little while, so i thank you in advance for your patience! :)

The leather of the seat was still warm when Haechan sat back down. It was a stark reminder about how little time had passed since Mark had pulled him away from Johnny and Ten.

And yet now, with the appearance of Doyoung, it was if everything had shifted. There were suddenly stakes that Haechan hadn't anticipated, danger that hadn't even crossed his mind. It was quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened in that situation.

The sick feeling f dread was already beginning to build up in his stomach, the very start of a headache forming behind his temples, and Doyoung hadn't even started to talk.

Beside him, Mark shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He glanced at Haechan, looking torn between asking the younger something or just staying silent.

In fact, Haechan was rather surprised that Mark hadn't attempted to question who Doyoung was, or challenge the older's authority. He didn't seem like the type of person to sit down and take orders, his privileged lifestyle usually having him giving them. And yet he'd obeyed without a second thought. If anything, it seemed uncharacteristically timid.

Maybe, Haechan thought, he'd seen his face. He hadn't had time to mask his emotions appropriately, and the recognition in his eyes must have been unmistakeable. He could imagine how pale he must have gone. A contrast to how confident he had presented himself as before. And he didn't doubt that Mark would be able to recognise that. Maybe he trusted Haechan's worry enough to make decisions for him.

He wondered who Mark thought Doyoung was. How much of the Library's dynamics Mark actually knew, and how much was just lucky guesses. Whether he'd gathered what kind of trouble they were in, or was still blissfully oblivious.

Either way, it didn't really matter. He was per of this mess whether he knew about its existence or not.

"Doyoung," Ten said, breaking the silence that had built up, but failing to keep the waver out of his voice.

Doyoung seemed to regard him with a sort of resigned expectancy. "Why am I not surprised you're caught up in this?" He asked. When Ten didn't reply, he simply sighed, putting the folder he was carrying down, and drawing up a chair from a nearby table.

He took in the table as he sat down, eyes running over each one of them.

Johnny, who wasn't even trying to hide his worry, looking between Ten and Doyoung as if that would somehow explain anything.

Ten, with his sharp comments and hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

Haechan, with his stomach tying itself in knots, who couldn't quite take his eyes off of Mark.

Mark, whose beautiful dark eyes were still lined with red.

He sighed again, this time with a strange reluctance. "If I were a different Librarian-in-Residence, you'd be in so much trouble right now."

Well, that was ominous, Haechan thought.

It didn't take any of the truth away from the statement- with the amount of unspoken rules they were breaking right now being astronomical- but it didn't make anything clearer. It only reminded him of the fact that they'd revealed the existence of the Library to two outsiders, one of which was in a romantic relationship with a Librarian.

It only reminded him of the fact that he'd probably be stuck filing for  _years._

And that was still so much better than what he could predict for Ten. He didn't need to ask to know that the older would be cast out of the Library, most likely discarded in an Alternate of low significance.

And then there was Mark and Johnny.

He didn't want to think about what would happen to them.

There were stories of how far the Library would go to keep its existence a secret. It was impossible to separate the rumours from the facts, especially considering the unreliability of the sources he'd heard them from, but none of them ended well.

But the Library could be lenient. It changed its affections with the wind, incredibly fickle for something so powerful and ancient.

"And?" Said Ten, finally finding his voice again, "What's the supposed to mean?"

Doyoung slid a single sheet of paper across the table. He let Ten pick it up and read it, his mouth falling into a small 'o' shape as he took in the words. Johnny looked like he was about to read over Ten's shoulder but Doyoung shook his head.

By the time Ten had finished, his face was an ashen grey. He handed the paper back, and attempted to smile, but it was weak. "I had no idea you were the type," He said, "I assume the Library doesn't know?"

"The Library has no need to know," Doyoung replied curtly, "Just as it has no need to know about-" he gestured vaguely to everyone at the table, "-this."

Mark narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to blackmail us?"

"I would never. Such barbaric methods are beneath me. I'm simply proposing a deal." He paused, "You don't have much choice in accepting though, I do admit."

"Blackmail."

He shrugged, "Call it what you like. But it's the only deal you have."

Haechan glanced at the sheet in his hands. He was almost tempted to lean over and just pull from him, and maybe take another biscuit while he was at it. If it wasn't for the fact that he couldn't risk the punishment from the Library, he probably would have done it five minutes ago, as soon as the older sat down.

Instead, he simply sat back into the seat, letting his head rest on the wall. "What is it, then? What do you want so badly?"

Doyoung looked at him directly for the first time. He could see the annoyance clearly in his eyes, but also a hint of remorse. He wondered what it was doing there, seeming so uncharacteristic. And yet, at the same time, he couldn't imagine to look without the hint of regret. It seemed to have made its home there, much in the same way that the endless sadness lived in Mark's eyes.

"First, I want my paperweight back. It's from Alternate A-822, and I spend almost all of the money I had trying to win it in a game of cards against Abraham Lincoln." He held his hand out expectantly as he spoke, waiting for Haechan to return it.

"I don't have it!" The younger protested, "I have no idea what you're talking about, and quite frankly, I'm offended that you would think I'd ever steal something from you."

Doyoung simply raised his eyebrows. Haechan opened his mouth to speak again, before deciding that it wasn't worth it. If he was going to be smart about this whole situation, he needed to stay on Doyoung's good side. He placed the item into the older's palm, before folding his arms and sliding ever further back into his chair.

"Thank you." Doyoung slid the paperweight into his pocket, before glancing at the sheet of paper in front of him. "And secondly..." His voice trailed off partway through his sentence. It was almost as if he were searching for the correct words.

That didn't particularly fill Haechan with joy.

"Well," said Doyoung finally, "It's probably better if you read it for yourself."

As Haechan took the sheet, a strange sense of dread came over him. The bad feeling in his gut had tripled with the movement, a sickly nausea making his head spin. The cafe seemed much colder than before, skin breaking out in goosebumps. Even the paper seemed heavier.

He was suddenly aware of the silence in the cafe, the soft piano melody having ended some time before. All that was left was the faint rattle of the plastic beads in the doorway, and the boiling of a kettle somewhere in the distance.

And the words on the paper seemed far too short, considering their message.

On it, in the very left hand corner was a set of numbers and letters. It was far too long to seem anything more than random to the untrained eye, but Haechan's heart sank as he took in the string of symbols. He could recognise a Library reference code anywhere.

Underneath the code were a few handwritten words, the messy scrawl indicating that they'd been written in a rush. A few ink blots stained the delicate letters from where the pen had been pressed too hard. There wasn't much there, and definitely not enough to satisfy all of Haechan's questions, but they provided a little bit of explanation.

Finally, he passed the paper to Mark, letting the older read it as well, despite knowing that it would make little sense to the older. "Let me get this clear," he said, "You want me to steal a book  _back_ from the Library?"

Doyoung nodded, "I'm aware that it must seem like a strange request."

"You're not kidding," Haechan ran his fingers through his hair, trying to take in its absurdity. "Why do you want it? And why don't you just go and get it yourself?"

The Librarians-in-Residence took the paper back from Mark, ignoring the confused look on the younger's face. "If it was that easy, I would have done it years ago." He rubbed his temples, frowning in frustration, "But no, the Library suspects that I would take if back at the first chance I get. If I'm even seen within a five-mile radius of the book, it's all over."

Haechan stood up. It was a sudden movement, and his legs hit the edge of the table as he moved, causing the plate of biscuits to wobble dangerously. There were only looks of surprise as he squeezed past Doyoung.

"Let's go then."

"Are you sure about this?" Mark said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The look of concern on his face seemed too sincere, too real to have a place between his false airs and sad eyes. It was genuine care, and it scared him.

Haechan dismissed it, ignoring the lump at the back of his throat. "Yeah," he said, trying not to focus on why his voice suddenly sounded so thick, "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Great," said Doyoung. He joined Haechan by the plastic beads, the file of papers clutched tightly in his hand, "No time to waste."

Mark went to stand up as well, but Johnny held his shoulder, pushing him back down. He shook his head at the questioning look he sent him. The meaning of his unspoken words hung heavy in the air.  _Don't. This isn't for us._

"Ten?" Doyoung said, as he pushed the the beads apart. The other Librarian simply shook his head, a single finger spinning his tea cup round and round on the saucer. The very last remnants of the liquid swirled around like a whirlpool.

It was the last thing Haechan properly focused on as they left the cafe. The movement of the liquid seemed to reflect his own thoughts swirling around his head. He barely noticed as they arrived at the public library. It seemed so long ago that he'd stepped out from between the shelves, so long ago that he'd left Jaemin behind with half a smile.

It was only when the reached those same shelves that he finally snapped out of it, straightening his back and plastering professionalism across his face.

"So this is it," he said,  turning to face Doyoung, "I'll guess you need to leave now."

Doyoung nodded, but his eyes rested on the door for a second to long, preoccupied with something Haechan couldn't see. An expression that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "That's right. Do I need to remind you of the reference code again?"

"Nope, I've got it."

"Right." He took in a breath, seemingly steadying himself. "Right. I'll... I'll just leave you to it then."

He left without another word, not waiting for Haechan to reply or show any indication that he'd even heard. And as his footsteps faded into the distance, silence seemed to become stifling.

The weight of Doyoung's request was heavy on his shoulders. He didn't really know if it could even be called a request, since it wasn't as if he had a choice.

There was a sick feeling in his stomach, a thought settling deep at the bottom of his gut that reminded him that the next time he would visit this Alternate would be the last, and that told him he wasn't ready to leave it yet. For some strange reason, Mark's silhouette appeared behind his eyelids, as beautiful and mysterious as ever.

Something about the older had captivated him. He couldn't let him go, not even against his better judgement, not when he was too caught up in his coffee-coloured eyes and feather soft hair. Not when the older was still hidden away from the world. Haechan wanted to join him in the tiny room he'd built for himself, unravelling the web of lies that surround him until he could see Mark in his entirety.

A feeling he couldn't identify swirled through his veins. He tried to brush it off, not wanting to dwell on things he was powerless to change.

Without looking back, he stepped through the doorway and back into the Library.


	5. The Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not proofread at the moment but i may come back and edit it at some point (so ignore the many mistakes that are bound to be in this mess)

Haechan's palm rested against the cool doorknob, a contrast to the warm mahogany of the door's panelling that sent shivers down his spine. Or, more realistically, the anticipation of meeting Mark again had clouded his senses.

In his other hand, the book Doyoung had asked him to retrieve was heavy. It weighed down his hand, seemingly more than just an old leather cover and few yellowing pages. It hadn't even taken him long to locate, despite being on the The other side of the Library.

A little over five hours.

That was it. That's all it had taken.

He sighed. No matter what he told himself, self-depreciating or not, the wood  _did_ seem warmer, throbbing in a way that signalled how alive the world behind it was.

In a strange way, to him, Alternate B-341 had become more alive than any other world he'd been in before.

And maybe it was just one person that made it appear that way.

It's the familiar uncertainty beginning to swirl in his gut, he decided that he'd had long enough to contemplate his feelings. The intricate carvings were inevitably going to imprint on his forehead if he stayed there much longer. There wasn't a point in trying to delay the inevitable. Pushing all thoughts and hesitations out of his mind, he went to turn the handle.

A cough interrupted him.

Haechan turned on his heels quickly, ready to deny all notions of him entering a world unauthorised. He opened his mouth to quickly explain that he'd only returned due to his lack of money and change in the book's location, before stopping with a relieved sigh.

Standing before him was Jaemin. Given the boy's naturally inquisitive nature, it was unsurprising that he'd followed the older. His curiosity was one of the qualities that first made him eligible to become a Librarian, combined with his uncanny ability to get into trouble whenever possible.

Most Librarians often had such qualities. Combined with a love of books, the thirst to know more than what most people were satisfied with provided good incentive to give up any hope of a normal life.

He smiled at Jaemin, hand resting over his heart. It was beating embarrassingly quickly, and he couldn't deny the rush of relief that had flooded through his veins. There weren't many people Haechan trusted, even in the Library, but Jaemin was one of them. Despite him being the younger's superior, they'd formed a close friendship.

"Off to see your secret lover?" Jaemin spoke in English, and Haechan inwardly raised his eyebrows at the decision. He would have much preferred their native Korean. He hadn't had much of chance to speak the language due to his location in Canada, and he missed the familiarity of the syllables on his tongue.

"Why should it bother you?"

"It doesn't." Jaemin's clipped London accent morphed his words slightly, resurfacing from beneath the regal one Haechan had taught him. They'd have to work on that later, he thought to himself. Anonymity within accents was a skill that would be endlessly useful in the field, especially with such a common language. "I'm simply concerned with what you plan to do with your current assignment. Especially since-" he raised a silver packet up, twirling it between his fingers, "- I still have this."

The envelope of money was horribly familiar. And with it's location in Jaemin's hand, Haechan's excuse suddenly had no impact behind it.

Haechan inwardly cursed. The younger was from a high-tech alternate, and had obtained skill sets that allowed him to access Haechan's email- a feat that he'd previously thought the Library's system would prevent. It turned out that informing Jaemin of his tasks was in the Library's best interest, though what that had to do with collecting literature, he didn't know.

"What I plan to do with my current assignment is none of your business. You don't need to know why I retuned." Perhaps the tone was a bit harsh, but it did the job, "As your mentor, and since I  _had_ confined you to paperwork whilst recovering, I am under no obligation to tell you anything."

Jaemin grinned, unaffected. "What can I say? I got bored of filing reports."

Haechan didn't grace his comment with a retaliation. Instead, he felt for the door handle behind him, letting his fist close around it and preparing to move quickly. "Jaemin..." he said, mind already searching for ways to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible.

Jaemin raised his hand, stopping the older mid-sentence. "Save it," he said, "I don't want to hear your excuses."

"I-"

"Just promise me you'll tell me the truth when you get back." He gave a huge grin in a typical Jaemin fashion, two rows of white teeth exposed. Beautiful, but startlingly shark-like, a warning of danger. "I can tell when you're in trouble, and I won't push if you don't want to share. Just-"

"I promise, Nana." His voice was soft. Strangely vulnerable.

Jaemin's grin faltered for a second. "Get back safely?" He whispered. He took a step back, though it was barely noticeable.

Haechan tried to smile back, but it was so much harder than he remembered. Why did this seem like a goodbye. It wasn't- he knew he was going to come back- but he couldn't stop himself from taking in every detail of Jaemin's face. "I'll try."

And with that, he turned and opened the door behind him, stepping back into the Canadian public library.

-

It didn't take him long to get back to the cafe. He'd arrived in an empty Library, and although he hadn't expected them to still be waiting there after five hours, he couldn't help the slight pang of disappointment when he'd stepped out into silence. There hadn't been a note left, or any other alternative way of instructing him to their location either.

He wasn't surprised by their absence. They couldn't take chances with raising suspicions by staying in the same aisle for too long, or risk exposure by leaving careless messages. Instead, he rationalised that they'd be in a location that he could easily make he way to. If they were smart, they might even have different people in those positions, and rotate them as to avoid staying there for too long. But he doubted they were that organised.

In fact, he thought, as he crossed the road to the shop, he wouldn't be surprised if Johnny was still trying to explain himself to Mark.

So back to the coffee shop it was.

He pushed through the doors and made his way to the plastic beads, hoping that they actually were there, and almost letting out a sigh of relief upon seeing the familiar mop of black hair facing away from him. At least that was one problem out of the way.

He slid into the seat next to Mark without hesitating.

"You're back." Said the older. The plate of biscuits that had been on the table earlier were gone. In its place was a tower of tiny cakes, each one exquisitely decorated in blues and creams to match the theme of the shop. Tiny crystals lined the edge of the plates, and an empty pot of coffee sat next to it. There were four cups on the table, waiting to be refilled.

Haechan put the book on the table. "I am," he said, before looking behind him for any sign of anyone else, "Have you been here all this time?"

Mark shook his head. "No. We waited at Doyoung's office for about three hours, before heading back here."

Haechan hummed in approval. He pointed to a small pastry on the middle tier of the tower, and Mark gestured for him to take it. It didn't really matter whether he'd allowed him to have it or not, as Haechan would have probably taken it anyway. Just the sight of the desserts was making his stomach twist in hunger, a stark reminder of how long it had been since he'd last eaten anything.

He didn't bother putting it on a plate or using one of the tiny silver forks that were lying untouched in the middle of the table. Instead, he brought it straight to his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as the taste hit his tastebuds. "This is so good." He practically moaned around the pastry, before reaching for another.

"The others are just out for a walk." Mark said, as he watched Haechan eat. The statement seemed out of place, so Haechan guessed he must have seen him looking around, as he's supplied the information without any prompting.

Haechan only nodded. His mouth was too full of cake to reply properly, and besides, he didn't even know what he'd say. Everything was going too quickly. Even his worries from inside the Library seemed like they were a millennia ago. It seemed strange to think that this could be the last time he'd see Mark again. Not when the older was right next to him, trying not to smile as Haechan attempted to fit even more in his mouth.

"It's not a race, you know," he said, raising his eyebrows, "You could take your time."

"How long have they been gone?"

Mark frowned, flustered by the seemingly off-topic question, "About ten minutes? Why?"

"And how long did they say they'd be?"

"About fifteen."

"Well there you go then." He picked up another dessert- this one a tiny cupcake with deep blue icing and tiny white chocolate stars on top- and raised it to his mouth. "I want to eat the last one just as Ten sits down, and make faces so he thinks that it's the most delicious thing ever."

Mark couldn't help the laugh that spluttered out from between his lips, "You're ridiculous."

Haechan only grinned in response, biting into the cupcake through his smile. The icing stuck onto his teeth, staining them a pretty shade of blue. The sickly taste of the sugar was beginning to burn his throat slightly, but he didn't slow down.

Finally, after what seemed like far too long, there was only one item left on the tower. A dark brownie with a light dusting of icing sugar on the top and chocolate practically oozing out of the mixture. He could see chocolate chips peeking out, and despite the ache that was beginning to form in his stomach pleading him to put his pride behind him, he picked it up, dropping it onto a plate and pulling it closer.

Mark looked like he was about to say something. Maybe it was to express his begrudging admiration that Haechan had actually managed to finish the entire tower, or to comment on the chocolate that was smudged on the corners of his mouth. But, almost as if the universe was conspiring against him, the plastic beads in the doorway rattled. Signalling the return of Johnny, Ten and Doyoung.

Haechan grinned at Mark. He waited for Ten to slide back into the booth, before making eye contact with the older and sinking his teeth into the brownie. As it hit his tongue, he let out a lewd moan, letting his eyes roll to the back of his head and eyelashes flutter. "This is the best brownie I've ever had."

Sitting down next to Ten, Johnny looked between his boyfriend and Haechan with confusion. Then, almost as if a light had gone of in his mind somewhere, he put his hand up to his mouth, trying to hide a smile. Haechan almost choked around the brownie. He hadn't expected Johnny to be one to laugh at his boyfriend's annoyance.

In an almost complete contrast, Doyoung simply sat back down in the chair he'd pulled up over five hours ago and rubbed his temples. He looked like he had half the mind to slap the brownie out of Haechan's hand. Then he saw the package in the younger Librarian's hand and his eyes lit up.

"Is that it? Is that the book?" His attitude was totally different to before. Eyes wide with an almost childlike hope, Doyoung didn't take it out of his line of sight. There was a light behind his face that definitely hadn't been there before- a sort of glimmer of hope finally resurfacing after years of despair.

Haechan swallowed the last piece of the brownie, tearing his eyes away from the look on Ten's face. God, the ache in his stomach was so,  _so_ worth it. He wiped his mouth, suddenly self-conscious that there might be a smudge of chocolate on his lips, before realising that he'd probably never see most of these people again, so the sudden burst of anxiety didn't make sense. "Do you have His Brightest Lighthouse?"

"Is that the book?" Doyoung repeated. He leaned forward slightly, almost hanging off the edge of his seat.

Haechan frowned. He hadn't realised that the older was  _this_ desperate to get the book. It just appeared to be like any other, not even any distinctive features on the cover. He had half a mind to ask, but dismissed that thought before he could open his mouth. Asking possibly personal questions wasn't the best way to get on Doyoung's good side. Something he needed to stay on, if he were to keep this entire situation a secret from the Library.

"Yeah," he finally replied.

Mark frowned, obviously having noticed Doyoung's empty hands as well. "Where's the book he wanted?" He narrowed his eyes, fists suddenly clenched, "Did you break the promise?"

Haechan glanced at the older, slightly taken aback. He hadn't expected him to stand up for him. Not when this barely involved him, not when it should have been Haechan's problem alone. Why was he getting involved? Why was the sadness in his eyes suddenly alight with the flames of anger?

Doyoung's face darkened, but before he could retort, Ten spoke up. "I've got it," he said, holding up the text. A thin book with a deep red leather cover, gold markings bordering the spine and announcing 'HIS BRIGHTEST LIGHTHOUSE' in bold letters.

It was beautiful. And he couldn't let it out of his sight. He practically threw Doyoung's book at him and made grabby hands, not even making a snide comment as Ten rolled his eyes and passed it to him.

And there it was.

Sitting in his lap, the book that had caused this mess in the first place.

It almost seemed too light, the weight barely even leaving an indent on his trousers. There couldn't be more than thirty pages in the entire thing. The paper was yellow with age, and the corners were soft with use, pages folded over in messy lines. Even the cover was slightly worn away, the leather peeling slightly at the corners and the gold lettering beginning to fade.

Beside him, he could see Doyoung clutching the book he had asked for to his chest. Very quietly, he said a single word under his breath. Soft with vulnerability and the kind of sweetness that couldn't be faked. It was just loud enough for Haechan to hear, and he frowned as he heard it.

"Jaehyun."

The name was eerily familiar. He'd almost definitely heard it before, if only he could remember where... He let his thoughts trail off, casting all curiosity out of his mind with a firm shake of his head. This wasn't his place to pry, no matter how interesting the situation may be.

Still, he resolved to ask Jaemin whether he recognised the name later.

"Is that it?" Mark spoke up suddenly. His voice was startlingly loud against the quiet of the room, the only other sound the rustling of paper and quiet chatter of the coffee shop in the background. "Are you going to leave now?"

Haechan frowned. Surely the older knew it would come down to this. He knew that it couldn't possibly last forever, and that this was going to be the last time that they met. He knew not to get attached. So why did he sound so sad?

"I guess?" Haechan replied, immediately hating how weak his voice sounded. He was supposed to be strong, goddammit. But ever since he'd arrived in this Alternate... everything seemed to be going wrong. His confident facade had taken too many hits. He'd been forced to show vulnerability.

And he still couldn't understand why that whenever he looked at Mark, all his thoughts fell away. 

"I guess." Mark echoed.

Doyoung strode up. He held his book tightly to his chest, fingers pale from the force. His hair seemed slightly ruffled, cheeks redder than they were before. He tilted his head, a silent statement ringing out louder than any of his words could have.

We can't stay here any longer. We can't delay leaving. We have to go.

A strange numbness settled in Haechan's chest. Right. They had to go.

All five of them made their way out of the coffee shop without talking. Johnny paid for the drinks and cakes whilst the rest of them waited outside, and before long, they were outside the Library.

Everything seemed to be going too quickly.

It seemed like so long ago that his heels had last clicked against the marble floor of the reception outside Doyoung's office.

It seemed so long ago that he'd stolen the toy of his desk, asked if he could see Mr Kim. Now he couldn't even imagine not knowing who the Librarian-in-Residence was.

It seemed so long ago that he'd first stepped into the Alternate.

And yet it seemed like only moments since he'd met Mark. Every single second seemed sped up, like Time had her hand on fast-forward. Every single time he looked in Mark's eyes, those endless skies of empty black, he felt his breath hitch and the world blur around him.

He still had so much to find out about the older, his endless curiosity not satisfied by what answers he'd already gained.

He had to know more.

He had to see Mark again.

But it was too late. In what appeared to be no time at all, they were standing outside of the entrance to the Library. The shelves of books on each side of the door seemed to mock him.

Doyoung cleared his throat. "Well."

All eyes fell on him. The book was still clutched to his chest, but the desperation in his eyes had disappeared. In its place was the same steely glare that had been there before, the familiar shallow coldness. The vulnerability he'd shown before had left no traces.

"Well?" Ten asked. His fingers were pale against where he was clutching Johnny's hand. A life line of sorts, Haechan supposed. He couldn't blame him.

"I should go."

Mark frowned. "Should you? After all of this, you're just going to leave?"

"What else do you suggest I do? I can't stay here too long or the Library may detect my presence." Doyoung's voice was flat. Completely emotionless. And yet his eyes never broke contact with Haechan the whole time he was speaking. Haechan wondered whether he was trying to convey something behind his dry words.

His reply seemed to quieten Mark for a second. His mouth opened, but no words came out, and then Mark's brain began to work again and he said "Aren't you even going to say thank you?"

Doyoung didn't blink. He didn't show any sign that he'd heard Mark at all, just stared at Haechan. When he finally spoke, it was quiet. "If you were to return," he said, "I wouldn't report it. No one would know that you were here."

He turned slightly, just enough for Haechan to see the side of his face. "I've been in the same situation as you, long ago. We're more alike than I want to admit." Doyoung didn't even wait for his words to sink in before beginning to walk away. He'd just reached the end of the corridor when Haechan managed to choke out a few words.

"Wait!"

Doyoung turned at the sound of Haechan's voice, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Why did you want that book so much?"

The Librarian-in-Residence smiled. Then he turned away again, and disappeared between the shelves of books, like he was never there in the first place. Haechan's question hung heavy in the air, unanswered.

But somehow, he felt like he already knew.

Not even a few seconds after Doyoung had left, Ten cleared his throat. He looked at Johnny, silently asking permission, and when the older nodded, stretched his arms out in front of him. "We'll be going as well, then."

They didn't wait for permission to leave, simply stepping away as soon as the words left Ten's mouth. Mark glanced between them. He looked torn, not sure whether to follow or sat with Haechan.

"We'll be waiting outside." Said Johnny, notice Mark's hesitation. He smiled widely, "Don't take too long."

Mark nodded. Haechan noticed that they'd made up. There was definitely less of an awkward silence between them, the tension having almost faded to nothing.

They made their way to the end of the corridor, before pausing just as Doyoung had done.

"Don't you have something to say?" Asked Ten.

Haechan frowned, trying to think of what the older could possibly be referring to, before putting two and two together and grinning. "Are you talking about the bracelet?"

Ten grinned back. He reached into a pocket on his jacket and brought out a small silver charm bracelet. It was unmistakably Haechan's, the tiny crystals hanging down a supposed way of keeping good luck with him. Haechan had no idea when the older had stolen it, but he wasn't as dense of the older seemed to think he was.

He simply raised his eyebrows back, and reached into his own pocket to produce a tiny metal pin. Engraved with laurel leaves and delicate Greek letters. And it was Ten's.

As soon as he produced it, Ten looked down at his jacket, frowning when he realised that the broach was indeed his. At then he simply sighed. He stuck his middle finger in the air as he walked always, pulling a laughing Johnny behind him. He didn't look back once, and Haechan had the strange feeling that he didn't need to. Like they'd meet again. Like this wasn't a final goodbye, but maybe more a new beginning.

And that left him and Mark.

Mark, with his eyes darker than the endless expanse of space.

Mark, with his small, awkward smile that never seemed to stay for long enough.

Mark, who made Haechan's heart skip a beat every time he looked at him.

"So."

There were no words to say. Not really. None seemed to fit properly in his mouth, none seemed to fit the situation. Haechan was someone whose life functioned around words. He breathed them in from the moment he woke to the moment he fell asleep, his mind was constantly spinning with descriptions and half thought-out phrases.

And yet there was nothing that felt  _right._

"So." He echoed.

There was no time for goodbyes. Mark knew that as much as Haechan did.

"I'll come back." Haechan whispered, "I promise."

Mark smiled. There was no hidden meaning. There was no concealed sadness or disappointment. No attempt to make him stay, not when they both knew it was impossible. It was simply a smile.

Haechan knew he had to see it again.

"Okay." Said Mark.

And that was it. Haechan's hand closed around the door handle. He grabbed Mark's hand and squeezed it, letting it drop back to his side afterwards. Then, before he could have any second thoughts about what he was about to do, leapt through the door, back into the Library.

The door shut behind him. The weight of his promise still lingered on his lips, and he brought a single finger up to his mouth. There was a slight tingling sensation left. It echoed the sudden influx of butterflies in his stomach, and the giddy excitement that was beginning to make his head spin.

He took a step forward, when a sound made him jump.

To his left, a book had just fallen off a shelf. It left a cloud of dust in the air surrounding it, but as Haechan looked, he couldn't see an empty space where it could have come from. He frowned. That was strange.

In fact, the fact that it had fallen in itself was strange. The Library had a level of sentience that meant that every book, once placed, was unlikely to be removed unless the Library wanted it to be. It was what had made Doyoung's book retrieval so out of the ordinary, and now what had seemed like a lucky coincidence was repeating itself.

He picked it up.

The cover was a dark black, but there were points where the leather had scratched off to reveal a shiny silver fabric beneath it. The pages were yellow and creased, crinkled beneath his fingers and one wrong move away from falling out. Each one was covered with words and letters, a deep black ink that soaked into the paper. Not something from a cheap pen, the thought, running his fingers over the indents left.

It wasn't a book he recognised, not one of the ones he'd ever returned or even thought about reading. It wasn't until he turned it over that he realised what the Library could possibly want.

On the cover was written two words. A name.

_Mark Lee._

Haechan smiled. He tucked the book under his arm and left the corridor, glancing behind him at the door once, before turning away.

Something told him that this was not the last time he'd be seeing Mark Lee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it ends. unless i ever work up the motivation to do a prequel/sequel (im thinking - how johnten met / dojae book prequel / norenmin sequel)
> 
> i also want to write a loona fic at some point so we'll see how that turns out
> 
> THank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it (i need that sweet, sweet validation) or if you didnt understand anything! 
> 
> love you mwah

**Author's Note:**

> welp i'm not canadian and i've never been to canada, so i apologise in advance
> 
> i also wrote most of this back in August and haven't proofread it since so that could be interesting
> 
> thank you for reading! please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed,, i need constant validation that my work is half decent


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